Mistletoe
by Blue Tears
Summary: Holiday One Shot Fic: Hobbits and mistletoe…hmmm?


** Title:** Mistletoe 

** AN:** Okee after much consideration I have decided that the urge to write a Sam/Frodo slash fic is too great to deny myself this wonderful uhhhh enjoyment. The fic is pre-quest and if you have a problem with slash I suggest leaving now…I'm sorry this didn't really turn out as I wanted it to…*runs off crying* 

** Disclaimer:** Hmmm…I hate this part…I don't own a bloody thing…the wonderful characters featured here all belong to Tolkien. 

** Summary:** Holiday One Shot Fic: Hobbits and mistletoe…hmmm? 

** Guide:** '_Thoughts_' 

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** Mistletoe**

     His jaw was beginning to ache unbearably as the sporadic motions of his muscles coiling and uncoiling worked the jaw in an attempt to return what little heat they could to the practically frozen body of Samwise Gamgee. The not so discreet clicks of his teeth clanking together was rapidly increasing in speed as he stared at a dark knot that marred the almost perfect wood of Bag End's front door. He knew quite well what was waiting for him beyond that door….Frodo… All he had to do now was knock. 

     Nervously shifting his weight from one large bare foot to the other, Sam brought his hands to his face. The carefully knitted gloves he wore kept his palms warm yet failed to protect his fingertips which now caused him to pull the nearly frost bitten digits to his lips and cup them around his mouth. Controlling the spasms for a moment he sent puffs of warm breath over the frigid skin. The visible air circled around his hands and supplied little warmth to his hands, but he continued nonetheless the nervous compulsion. 

     With rapt attention Sam gazed at the knot in the wood he had previously made note of; as he stared he began comparing himself to the mar disrupting the harmony of perfection. He, a gardener full of mistakes and fears, love-sick and trailing hopelessly after perfection itself in the form of his master; a Hobbit-lad full of admirable aspirations and never a single fear. Frodo's flawlessness would all be cast out if he ever submitted to the wild idea that he could love his own gardener—let alone another lad. Sam could never do that to his love—friend—master…but still he didn't know how much longer he could endure without one simple caress of his masters all too pale skin. 

     How many times had he dreamt of the sheer softness of that alabaster skin? How many times had he'd fancied a mere brush from those two blushing lips; thought of how soft they would be against his own thin lips…? Oh how he believed his lips were so undeserving of that simple caress. How many times had he found himself drowning in vibrant cerulean eyes as he desperately tried to listen to the smooth voice instructing him? He'd dreamt countless times of recklessly plunging his hands deep into the soft tendrils at the nape of Frodo's slim neck and entwining his fingers in the chocolate strands. Dreamt of pressing his lips against Frodo's, licking ever so lightly at the quivering lower lip that Frodo himself seemed to favor whenever he had something he was unsure of on his mind that he was about to express to Sam. He'd dream of crushing the older hobbit's body closer to his own in a heated kiss or even a simple hug. How he wonder what his love would do in return, that is if he requited it. Maybe he'd press back with equal force, maybe trail his delicate fingers down Sam's chest…lower, and lower until his nimble fingertips brushed against Sam's inner thigh, a teasing grin playing with his lips as he did so. 

     A sudden warmth at that idea surged through Sam's entire body and he lurched forward in shock attempting to suppress a quiet moan. The disruption of his thoughts brought him back into reality, rekindling his memory with the true intent as to why he was knocking on Bag End's front door; asking for permission to leave early for the day. 

     '_Ah yes that was it,_' Sam thought to himself as he swallowed a rather large lump that had formed in the back of his throat. He took one of his hands away from his lips and balling it into a fist began to rap lightly on the door to a rhythm that seemed to only play for him and Frodo. 

     From within Bag End Sam could hear a loud thump and what he deciphered to be several mild hushed curses in a strange tongue that Sam was sure he'd never heard before…and probably never would…except maybe with Mister Frodo. Letting his hand fall back to his side Sam took in a deep reassuring breath as the subtle click of a metal lock sliding out of joint echoed in the ever darkening night air. Without another moment to breath Frodo's surprised face appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed lightly pink and his hair look somewhat disheveled…_not perfect_…But a wide smile graced his lips as confusion melted into recognition in Frodo's vibrant eyes. 

     "Sam. Come in." He sounded out of breath as he sighed Sam's name in familiarity. Opening the round door Frodo allowed his friend entry. The gray knit hat that had been covering Sam's dark strawberry blond curls was quickly removed as the younger hobbit cautiously stepped into the large smial. 

     An odor that in Sam's mind distinctly spelled out Frodo began to assault his senses. The scent teased with him as he stepped into the room and brushed past his master whom smelled deeply of peppermint tea and cinnamon sticks with a seductive undercurrent of ginger snaps; Sam knew they had become one of Frodo's new winter favorites. Looking about the entry hall the young gardener watched as the shadows cast by the fire's flames licked the walls across the room, playing against them forming indescribable shapes. The soft gust of cold wind sent a chill up Sam's back, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up; Frodo had shut the door behind him. Spinning around, his words on the tip of his tongue Sam's mind seemed to draw a blank, forgetting even his own name as he gazed transfixed by the sight of his master standing before the closed door. 

     A light blue weskit hugged tight around his all too thin frame, fastened on both sides with over sized deep blue buttons. Sam followed the intricate patter that was woven tightly into the light blue fabric with silken thread of a deeper hue, the lily and lavender flowers weaved in and out as Sam's gaze traced over every stitch upon every petal. The sleeves of Frodo's homespun shirt dared not to put to shame the creamy skin that covered the older hobbit's hands, but instead took on an almost off white tint in the dusk light that was now mingled with fire light. That perfect hand laying effortlessly against mid thigh, fingers toying with the velvety soft auburn material that lay beneath them; _oh to be that hand._

     Sensing his gardener's absentmindedness Frodo prompted the younger hobbit-lad. "Sam, did you wish to ask me something?" His voice was full of caring as he pushed away from the front door and made his way to help Sam out of his jacket. His heart had leapt into his throat when he discovered the stranger raping at his door to be Samwise. Since moving to Bad End to live with Bilbo, Frodo had taken an interest in his only true friend; Samwise Gamgee. The first true best friend he'd ever had. If not to them both at least Frodo knew his adoration for the younger stout hobbit had grown beyond friendly lad camaraderie. 

     "Actually, beggin' your pardon Mister Frodo, I'd like to keep my jacket on," looking away with a slight flush Sam cleared his throat and continued, "seeing as I was gonna ask you if I could go home early today due to the cold…" Chancing a look up Sam saw a strange emotion grace his masters face, an indescribable emotion; perhaps sorrow threaded through with relief. Retreating a step back; pulling his hands away from Sam's upper most jacket clasp; Frodo smiled melancholy. 

     "Of," Frodo's voice failed him for a moment but he gracefully covered it with a cough and continued with a steady voice, "of course, Sam." Worrying his bottom lip as Sam had pictured only moments ago Frodo stood quietly before turning to reopen the front door, but Sam's quiet voice halted him mid turn. 

     Twisting his hat in his hands nervously Sam spoke up, it physically pained him to see his Frodo in such a state. "Not that I want to be leavin' you Mister Frodo, but its mighty cold out ther-" Sam's shy voice was quickly cut off by a rushed offer from Frodo. 

     "Well if you must be getting home I'll make you a cup of tea to warm you up before leaving." Brushing past the taken aback Samwise Frodo made his way to the small kitchen within Bag End. Sam could hear a shrill whistle echo within the kitchen and reverberate off the walls as the sound bounced into the entry hall. "I've got a pot on already." Sam smiled warmly to himself. He could easily picture Frodo as he had been before a bumbling Samwise Gamgee had to knock on the door and tarnish a perfect afternoon; sitting in his armchair Frodo would be reading and waiting for his water to boil so he'd have a warm cup of tea to sip by the fire side…alone. Ice flooded his veins as he pictured his Frodo sitting alone on such a cold night. Removing his jacket Sam heard Frodo's voice call back to him once more, "All I've got is peppermint, is that alright with you?" Jacket and hat abandoned upon a wooden chair Sam walked down the hall to the kitchen and paused in the low round doorway. 

     "Perfectly fine with me, Mister Frodo." With a smile of relief Frodo gracefully picked up the two identical cups and carried them over to where Sam stood waiting. A whispered ofference issued from Frodo's lips as he handed Sam a cup. Gratefully taking one of the cups Sam lightly brushed his fingertips against the back of Frodo's hand; light brow liquid sloshed as Frodo almost lost his grip on the porcelain. Taking the first sip Sam's eyes wandered to above his head, in the very middle of the low round doorway hung a strange plant bearing white berries and green waxen evergreen leaves. 

     Mistletoe. There was said to be an ancient tradition forged by Men that when two people found themselves beneath a sprig of this sort they were bound by some unwritten law to kiss one another, usually used on some holiday called "Christmas" as decoration: or so as Marigold told him. 

     Sputtering his tea back into the cup that had been so lovingly prepared by Frodo Sam stared at the older hobbit as he furrowed his eyebrows. "What's that, Mister Frodo?" His voice raised an octave towards the end of every syllable as he asked pointing to the offending sprig. Tilting his head up slowly Frodo cast his gaze upon the mistletoe. 

     "Oh it's a decoration Bilbo must have left up. I believe he said that there's some strange custom that goes along with it." Frodo paused to think before continuing, "Men say that when two people stand beneath a spray of mistletoe they mus-" his throat tightened cutting his voice short as he remember the custom of Men. Eyes wide Frodo swallow in attempt to loosen his throat. He watched Sam's eyes darken as a fire beneath their placid depths ignited, kindling a scorching hope within the pit of Frodo's stomach—or maybe he was simply projecting his own fire into Sam's, eyes creating only a fool's hope. 

     "Kiss." Sam was astonished at his own audacity and quickly began stumbling over himself with apologize. "Beggin' your pardon Mister Frodo I meant no disre-" One of the nimble, milk white, dream fingers found itself brushing ever so lightly with a butterfly caress against Sam's "undeserving" lips as Frodo hushed him. The hand slithered down Sam's neck and stopped its path of electrification upon the strawberry blond man's upper arm, bunching clean white fabric there—putting its color to shame; or so Sam thought. Closing the distance between them Frodo's face moved but a hairs with away from Sam's as he whispered against the younger hobbit's lips. He could feel Frodo's breath achingly close, so close… 

     "You're absolutely right, Mister Samwise." The words spilt from his lips in a torrent of air as he pressed his lips tentatively against Sam's. 

     A sweet chaste kiss free of lust or impure emotions that are so easily confused with the long lost art love; a chaste kiss that rekindled the hope that romance might not be dead within Middle Earth. He didn't want to close his eyes for fear he was in a walking dream, he watched the deep auburn lashes that fringed Frodo's eyes caress and kiss the curvature of his pale cheek. Drinking in every vision he could Sam tried to hold on to the moment as long as possible, gripping everything and anything. 

     As if from miles away he heard a crash of china being broken as if held to tightly, but he paid no heed to the sound and finally let his eyelids hood. Feeling bolder as seconds pasted like hours Sam dared to live his dream—even if it were a dream itself—a light slick caress made itself known against Frodo's lower lip as Sam slowly traced the full bottom lip with his warm tongue. A sudden gasp rang through the hall as if someone had screamed in Sam's ear. 

     '_What have I done!_'' 

     Tearing away from Frodo, Sam looked at the older hobbit with wide eyes and panic etching his every feature. Voice stuck in his throat unable to apologize Sam's mouth fell open soundlessly, aghast to what he had done, no dream ended like that. 

     '_I have to get out of here. **Now!**_' 

     Bolting for the door, barely noticing the sharp pain in his right hand as crimson blood fused with peppermint tea and porcelain poured from his palm. Forgetting his jacket and hat on a chair in the entry way Sam threw open the front door and tried to push out the constant mantra of "Sam, wait," being called in Frodo's frantic voice. Chest heaving, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow Sam reached his own house and quickly stumbled up to his room. 

     "Samwise! Sam! What is this stomping about?" The Gaffer's voice boomed as Sam closed his door and locked it before tumbling face forward onto his bead with a quiet 'flump.' He pushed out every thought and sound but that of his own pulse raging like a fire pumping through his veins spilling over through the cut deep in his hand. 

     "Tweenagers." The old man sighed throwing up his hands in defeat. 

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     A dreamless sleep; save one that spoke of memories and nostalgia. 

     A warm breeze always surrounds the fields of the Shire in the middle of spring, a breeze that both Sam and Frodo enjoyed as they walked slowly through the large field. Pausing every so often Frodo would ask Sam left and right what kinds of flowers they spotted on their walk. It was one of those days from last spring that consumed Sam's dream. 

     "Sam what kind is this, it's beautiful." Fingering the soft petals of the white flower Frodo stared at it with amazement that something so beautiful could grow in the wild untended by young yet wise hands of a certain gardener. The gentle breeze was beginning to toy with the soft chocolate curls that covered the scholar's head. 

     "They're White Azaleas, Mister Frodo." Sam answered dumbfounded by the way the white of the petals contrast yet complimented the pale cream of Frodo's skin. Standing closely beside his master Sam heard the older hobbit mumbled quietly to himself. 

     "So beautiful, flawless color…" 

     Feeling a rush of anger towards the flower; making his Frodo believe it was more perfect that the hobbit it had attracted, Sam felt the words rush forth from his mouth before he had a chance to think. "Begging your pardon Mister Frodo but there ain't be another living thing as beautiful or flawless as you." What Frodo believed to be quiet a fetching pink flush graced Sam's cheeks as he looked away but didn't retract his statement, it was what he believed and he would never lie to Frodo. 

     "You're too kind, dearest Sam, you don't have to tell me such things," his voice was laced with disbelief, but graciousness nonetheless. 

     "It is no lie, Mister Frodo…" Tugging at the edges of his mouth Frodo's lips contorted into a warm smile as he slung an arm around his companion. 

     "Oh Sam, my Sam" his cheeks deepened in color once more but Frodo continued, "promise me you'll never change…you're too honest and good for this world." They kept walking and looking at different beautiful flowers, but none as beautiful as Frodo Baggins. 

     "Never change, for me, your Frodo." 

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     The cold air nipped at the sensitive skin that covered the tips of Sam's pointed ear as he fought his way against the cold to find Bag End's front stoop. He hugged his arms against his body for warmth that was rapidly being lost; bumbling Samwise pulled it off again and had forgotten his jacket at Bag End which he was going to retrieve. 

     He wasn't sure what he would say to Frodo the next time he saw him 

     Hoping against hope that Frodo was still asleep Sam found the front door and pushed it open quietly. Frodo had not bothered to lock the door after Sam had left so quickly the previous night. The hinges creaked loudly as Sam pushed the door open and saw his jacket and hat sitting on the chair where he had left them the previous night. He moved inside the house to retrieve them but as he entered Bag End the resonance of uneven breathing sounded in the room to the left of the entry hall. 

     '_Frodo_.' 

     Sitting in the large armchair adjacent from the fireplace was an auburn haired hobbit-lad with his face in his hands breathing oddly. Sam felt his heart wretch in two watching his love cry. Silently moving to the chair Sam kneeled down before his master. Gently pulling Frodo's hand from his face, the older hobbit jumped at the contact. 

     "Sam!" Tear streams stained the porcelain skin of Frodo's cheek. A calloused hand found its way to caress the soft skin, wiping away the crystalline tears of spent emotions not needed spending. Just to stay like that forever, no words needed, no explanations, just feeling and touching—tender caresses that spoke louder that any amount of words ever could. Pulling his hand away from Frodo's face a trail of viscous blood had stuck to the older hobbit's face. "What is that?" Realization dawned on his face, paining his fine features, "the broken cup, oh Sam let me look at it." Frodo cooed soothingly as he pulled at Sam's palm, turning it face up careful to be tender with the wounded flesh. Holding the larger hand his lean finger he just barely ran his thumb over the wound. "Looks like you were cut pretty bad. Come here let me clean it." Frodo commanded standing from his armchair and leading Sam by the hand to the kitchen. The sink left running to warm Sam found his chance to speak to a calmer Frodo. 

     "Mister Frodo, I'm dreadful sorry about last night…" Sam whispered the lie from between two unforgiving thin lips pressed tight against white teeth. Those vibrant blue eyes reflected Sam's face as Frodo looked into his darkened eyes. 

     "Sorry?" Frodo's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He gripped Sam's hand in his and pulled it under the warm running water rubbing soap carefully into the wound, anything not to look at those dark eyes. 

     '_Sorry for what!?!_' He wanted to deny every trace of regret he saw paining Sam's eyes; to have that fool's hope again. Did Sam truly mean he'd never wished to have pressed his lips against Frodo's in one chaste kiss that seemed to stop time itself? 

     '_…you're too honest and good for this world…Never change, for me, your Frodo._' 

     "No! No, I'm not sorry and I'll never be." Frodo felt electricity crash through his body as Sam tore his hand from Frodo's and clutched his face in his rough calloused hands. Such power to give life to plants lay deep within those gentle hands that now lay upon Frodo's milky white skin. "Why must I be sorry for expressing my love? What are the use of emotions if we cannot show them? I'll never be sorry for what I did, and I shall not ask for your forgiveness for thi-" With a quick movement Sam had pressed his lip to Frodo's in a heated kiss, not pulling away when it was Frodo who first brushed tongue to lip in a slick warm caress. Sam's hands shifted to the nape of Frodo's neck and nestled themselves in the tendrils that hung their, caressing every strand as his tongue now searched every cavern in Frodo's waiting, wanting mouth. 

** Love is but a Fool's Hope **

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AN: Well that sucked, I'm soooooo sorry for wasting your time…please forgive me, it lacked everything….*sniff* If ya'll tell me what to do to improve it I'll re-write it. :D 


End file.
